Street Fighter V
by Unwilling Dude
Summary: Welp, first upload here, gonna be a start to what I plan on being a long-ass series. Sure, these will be rendered moot when a real SF V is announced but I'll have fun until then.
1. Prologue 1: After Disappearance

Street Fighter V: Prologue 1 - After Disappearance

The dull sound of a man's skull hitting the ground rang out through the alley. A tall, slim figure stood above him, looking down on the now unconscious opponent. Exhaling a sigh into the cold night, Remy watched his breath rise like a fog into the night sky. Too many fights ended this way. He wanted more like the few fights in that tournament two years ago. Not this pathetic excuse for a battle, where he still had breath to spare. The desire sickened him, the young man closing his eyes to the sight of his pulped opponent, a hand raising to drag across his long, morose features and through the long turqoise hair.

_ Why must I have this desire?_

Remy turned from the unconscious man, a mere brawler who'd attained an attitude of superiority thanks to his victory in a few barfights. Zipping his jacket up to the very top, he finally felt the cold shiver of the night.

_ This desire left me and my sister alone. Had it not coursed through my father's veins, she would have survived her illness, I know it._

Moving along the street, forgetting the scene in the alley to be embraced instead by the constant rush of cars through the dark, crisp London air.

_ Was it hereditary? Is there some part of my blood that biologically must boil at the idea of an equal match?_

It was the invitation that ignited this sleeping urge once more. It lay still on his hotel room's desk, opened, read and re-read a thousand times. How did it find him? How could they find a man who disappeared so completely? Obviously, he didn't disappear well enough.

"I'm doing this to save you!" He gestured wildly at his sister, the young blonde sitting on the open sill of the window in a pair of red shorts and a loose fitting white t-shirt, one of his own. She looked away from him, instead, watching the quiet Marseille coast.

"I won't survive this, Remy." She smiled sadly at him. It was difficult to be angry with him. Even if he betrayed them both. "It's advanced too far already."

Remy's fist pounded against the wall of their small apartment. Leaning forward, his head on his forearm as he leaned on the wall, he shook his head.

"You will survive." He replied. "With enough money, you will survive."

The diagnosis, the sudden knowledge of his sister's ill-health, despite how well she seemed, even now as they had this discussion, shook him to his core. How could the reaper be at the door of someone so unready? Did death really have to come to those who had not yet even experienced life?

"That wouldn't be enough to get even a check-up with a private doctor!" She shouted, pointing to the small pile of Franc notes on the table. She didn't like using this against him, but she had to make him stop somehow.

"Then I'll get stronger," he murmured, looking straight forward at his shadow on the white paint. "I'm not doing this for fun, sister. I end all fights as quickly as I can. An old street fighter is teaching me Savate. It's the most effective technique I've seen!"

He turned to look at her, a smile on his lips as he moved towards her, holding his hands out to take her own.

"I'll get into fights with higher prize money. I'll become the best fighter in the world for you."

"Given our father, that's such a twisted dream," that tearful smile of hers reappeared. "I'm hoping you've become a comedian, Remy. I'm not sure I can take such a truth."

"I can't give up on you so easily...." He whispered.

"Remy, my brother...."

He had failed her. She ended her own pain before he could make the money to start her treatment. So close to the 1999 tournament he'd signed up for. Yet he still competed. A grudge against all fighters, he called it. That was a pitiful joke, he realised. The longer he stayed in England, his new home, the more he realised, with terrible clarity, that some part of him, some instinct, some part not of his own mind, that he had enjoyed it.

The darkness that spawned that desire to fight. It was the same as the darkness that both hated and understood his father. How it roared when his sister died. In coming to England with the idea of starting a new life, he tried to turn his back on it. There were times when he'd been pushed to fight and unleashed the full force of his Savate. Accidental, he'd told himself. As for sizing up every fighter he'd seen on television, or any man of notable physique who entered the pub he haunted, that was simply the instinct he'd developed, he reasoned, no way to get rid of that.

It took one letter, one invitation to make him realise how stupid he'd been all this time. How _excitement_ pulsed through him at the idea of a fighting tournament, of his ability to enter, especially of how someone specifically considered him. That letter was what made him rush out to find this fight. This dissatisfying, quick, easy fight, just to confirm what he'd been missing. That what he'd turned his back on was his only livelihood left.

Walking into the night, Remy decided to turn towards that darkness once more, with the hopes of erasing it. The flame of battle burned in his heart. He would let it run wild, until it could burn no more.

But first thing's first. He had come to London for one other reason that lurked in his heart, hidden under the darkness he refused to look to. There was one English fighter in particular he was interested in.


	2. Prologue 2: A Challenge and Two Reunions

Prologue 2: A Challenge and Two Reunions

Above the low hum of the jukebox and the friendly, muttered conversations of the patrons, the clink of glasses could be heard. The barkeep nodded his thanks to the young waitress as she set them before him. Cleaning a glass with a soaped rag, the Englishman kept his eyes on one patron in particular. Vermouth drinker. Had stared a long time before ordering anything. Rude behaviour like that, that was one thing the bartender and bouncer of The Downstairs Pub couldn't stand. Raising a gloved hand to smooth over his blonde moustache, Eagle nodded towards the young man's glass.

"Would you like a refill?" He offered.

"No thanks," the customer raised a hand. "I didn't come to drink."

At this, Eagle sighed, crouching to charge his legs like a spring, leaping high over the bar as a rush of energy flashed past him, _ki_, perhaps, smashing a few of the glasses behind the bar. Landing behind the young man, Eagle flashed an eye to the damaged property. No drink, thankfully. Having pulled them from the bar just in time, he stood with his guard of escrima sticks held before him.

"This bar serves good drink," the Frenchman quipped, gesturing with the empty glass before setting it down again.

"Did... you just throw a one handed Sonic Boom?" Eagle regarded the young man with an even more cautious eye. An American Colonel he'd fought all too long ago used that exact same move. The turqoise haired youth took a stand of his own, slacking his body, his fingers flexing before him as he leaned back slightly.

"Sonic Boom? I call it the 'Light of Virtue'."

"So, what is it, then," Eagle's grip tightened on the sticks. The patrons of the bar had slowly moved into the corners, the waitress holding the serving tray over the lower half of her face. "A challenge?"

"Something like that. Excuse me for the late introduction, but I am Remy. I'd come to London hoping to find Eagle, a living legend amongst Street Fighters," the lanky young man gestured around the room. "But I thought he was a bouncer, not a bartender?"

"I bounce. I bartend. Ever since I got my own little place, I've been widening my range of skills."

"Mm," the blue haired one smiled. "I like it. It reminds me of an old haunt in France... but I hope you haven't forgotten your real skill!"

The lunge of a long limb towards him and Eagle flipped his sticks into a low guard, catching the young man's wrist and twisting his body to lead him behind, Eagle quickly span the shafts away from Remy's arm, swinging hard to strike at his lower back. However, by this time, the Frenchman had deftly widened the distance between them.

"I only have one vision," smirked Eagle. "To defeat every challenger. Forgive me for not taking you seriously when you first arrived."

Shifting his hands downward, Eagle would sway towards his opponent, swinging his sticks upwards, much like swinging a golf club, the intended target the young man's ribcage. However his sticks were caught by Remy's forearm, not a particularly painless defense, but one that he managed to use to push Eagle's attack way off his mark. The bouncer left wide open, Remy would push upwards, his hands outstretched as his legs extended together to flip upwards. The Rising Rage Flash! However, his jump, instead of taking him upwards, took him back, away from the man, and down, his back hitting the floor before his legs ever got above his head. Dazed, Remy's eyes tried to focus as the roof above blurred.

"As I said...," Eagle leaned over him, having placed his sticks on the table. "Forgive me for not taking you seriously. Had I known you were a real fighter instead of a punk trying to cause some damage, I would've never slipped that little something extra into your vermouth."

"... you drugged... me?" Remy laughed, his speech turning sleepy.

"My esteemed co-worker, Colleen, shall drive you home," He gestured to the waitress, now visibly hiding behind the patrons. "I'll accept your challenge the next time you come, alright?"

"It wasn't just a challenge...," Remy sighed, fumbling a hand into his pants pocket, pulling out a crumpled letter. "An invitation...."

Eagle opened the letter, raising a brow in curiosity, looking back down at the smirking, nearly unconscious Frenchman.

"A tournament. An invitation for me?"

"Once I told them I could find you... they were glad to send me another," the fading youth laughed. "The world's awaiting your return, Mr. Eagle."

"A formal letter would've done the trick." He chuckled.

"I wanted to get your attention... and... see that famous bojutsu myse... mys..." His words finally faded into silence. As Colleen unsurely pulled on her coat and inched towards the now unconscious man, Eagle returned to the bar, the letter still in his hand, as he inspected the glass Remy had drank from.

"You certainly got my attention...." He muttered to himself, already feeling his heart pumping at the idea.

A tournament. He hadn't even thought of one since his fight with a certain Spanish ninjutsu fighter. Having thought there too much politics and agenda behind the tournaments of today, he decided to retire, to only fight those who challenged him and, most importantly, to run his own pub. But this young man... well, he had convinced him.

There was no stopping him now, Eagle would compete once more.

-+-

Flexing his fingers after they poked through the holes of his tight leather sparring gloves and making his way down the stairs from the old dojo, Ken proceeded towards the old training place of his youth, the battered, but still intact, red gi awash with nostalgia and the feel of past fights. He just couldn't stay away from the fight, could he? Except this time he had more than himself to fight for. The young Brazilian in the yellow gi rushed down the steps after him, unable to get enough of the temple after seeing it for the first time.

"Ken-sensei, wait up!" Sean shouted, tripping at the bottom step. Turning, the American champion grabbed his dreads, pulling him upright painfully.

"I told you, Sean. Just Ken'll do, alright?" He sighed, knowing that, for the hundreth time, the young fighter would ignore him. Five years of training and a lot of progress, but he'd never stop calling him 'Ken-sensei'. It was like the 'karate films', apparently.

"Mr. Masters, at least..." he grumbled, batting his teacher's hand away.

"Hey...," Ken snapped back, the two stopping for a moment, before suddenly assuming their stances. After a few moments of silence, Sean started laughing, infecting Ken with it before they started walking again. "Come on, I want to surprise the old bore."

"I can't wait to meet him, Mr. Masters."

At the waterfall, Ken would move out towards the figure in the middle of the large flat stone that shored the water, the arena of many of his past spars. The meditating man standing towards the waterfall seemingly hadn't noticed the two encroachers yet. No doubt because Ken told the youth to be nothing less than completely silent with his step.

"Man, the amount of times my face hit this stone... brings back memories." Ken suddenly announced loudly. Grunting with surprise, the old Japanese man in the half-shouldered grey gi turned, launching a one handed Hadouken through the air, right towards the American.

"Woah!" Ken shouted, throwing his own. The two fast balls of ki collided and dissipated in the distance between them. The old man was now suddenly huffing his breath in shock.

"Ken, you fool!" Gouken shook his head, standing straight. "I could've killed you!"

"Master, please, I like to think I'd be able to defend myself a little better than that." Ken made his way towards the man, his hand outstretched towards his teacher. However, he didn't anticipate the sudden rush towards him, nor the fist that pressed hard into his stomach, the sound of Gouken's foot stamping on the stone resounding hard off the waterfall.

Ken flew far, soundlessly, winded, until he skidded along his butt on the ground.

"... M... Master..." He gasped. "M... my bad..."

"You still have much to learn," Gouken smirked in amusement, stroking his beard before he looked towards the teen in the yellow gi. Pushing his hands down steadily with his breath, Gouken regained his composure, and his stance. "So this is the fabled disciple I heard about. Let's see what he has learned from his foolish master."

"Right!" Sean nodded, taking his stance, despite Ken's silent, winded warnings. Sprinting across the stone towards the old, visibly surprised master, Sean threw both his arms up in a shockingly powerful uppercut as he launched himself right before the old man. "_Dragon Smash!_"

It was no effort from Gouken at all to simply dash back, watching the young man soar into the air. Nor did much thought have to be put into the one handed Hadouken that he threw upwards, catching the Brazilian mid-flight and sending him tumbling to the ground. As Sean rubbed his back with the pain of experiencing the same stone landing his master had many times before, Gouken laughed, stroking his beard once more. Ken recognized the trait, one he had seen plenty of times when he or Ryu tried something stupid or unexpected or, sometimes, even good.

"Ken managed to train a fighter even more reckless than himself!"

"Lemme show you one more!" Sean jumped right back onto his feet. "This one is called the Shoryu Cannon!"

"Oh!" Gouken exclaimed in pleasure, obviously eager to see this powerful amatuer's next technique, only to see him begin to make the exact same motions.

"Sean!" Ken growled, standing onto his feet. The sudden embarrassment of his student making a fool out of himself before his old master registered on the blond's expression. "The exact same thing will happen again!"

Gouken laughed loudly, a laugh Ken hadn't heard since.... well, since before his 'death'. Soon breaking out into a grin of his own, he tousled Sean's dreadlocks, much to the youth's chagrin.

"It has been a while since you have chosen to make my temple your resting place, Ken, but the rules haven't changed just because I've been in a coma," Gouken pointed towards a bundle of sharpened wooden poles which he'd previously planned on using himself. Luckily that wasn't necessary anymore. "You must earn your dinner."

-+-

"Geez... even with a handicap, it don't feel right beating you guys so easy. You tryna make me feel bad or something?"

The blonde would toss a rock idly in a bandaged grasp, ready to toss in case one of the five wanted to stand. The jailstripe wearing Cody yawned, letting the rock fall as none of them seemed to even stir. He scratched at his sore wrist after opening his cuffs. As per usual, a few light knocks with a particularly hard rock and a little knife trickery made them easier to deal with. But they were getting harder to crack. No wonder.

Mayor Mike had helped him out too many times. Couldn't explain a _third_ escape very easily, could he? Nope, Cody was being moved to a much tighter pen away from Metro City. At least, that was the plan. One Cody didn't like very much. Didn't take much to put the guards to sleep and just walk back to the city. He wasn't sure how long he planned on running around this time. Maybe enough to just prove the point. He wasn't interested in leaving Metro City. Not when he fought so long to protect it.

A sudden whistle attracted Cody's eyes towards the entrance of the alleyway, where the sun peered in relentlessly, lighting up the thick head of hot pink hair that stood at the entrance. The leggy, torn-top-denim-shorts wearing femme made her way further into the alley, tipping her police officer's hat in Cody's direction.

"Mr. Travers, I thought I'd find you around here."

"This is my neighbourhood, Poison," Cody looked over the woman cautiously, snapping his cuff shut around his wrist again. When she wanted to, Poison could fight real nasty. "You here to gloat about being free while I'm a wanted man? You did that last time."

Cody, Cody...," Poison sighed, making her way even closer, running a hand along the outlaw's chest, feeling him tense with the proximity. "I'm done with that. Last time you broke out I was still sore from the beating you gave me in the Mad Gear days. This time I'm here to extend a hand in friendship, not make petty snipes."

"Since when was friendship on your cards?" Cody reached up to take Poison's wrist, pulling her hand off him to put it down by her side. The woman smirked, placing said hand on her hip as she jutted it out to one side.

"I never really disliked you that bad, Cody... we were just on the wrong sides, hm? Now that ninja friend of yours... can't say I'm a fan. Such a stickler."

"Guy... can't say that's untrue." He smirked. Soon, however, he was shaking his head, his expression turning serious again. "And you were the only one on the wrong side. So what is it, Poison?"

At this, the woman reached down her scant top, a pleased grin appearing as she noticed Cody's eyes following. From that mysterious place she pulled out three envelopes, all with an emblem across the front. It was very similar to one Cody had seen before. It had the wings and the thunder of the Shadaloo emblem, but upon a symbol of the world instead of a skull. _The World Warriors Tournament_ was beneath it.

"Now that's a blast from the past... how old are these?" Cody whistled, reaching out to take them. However, Poison smacked his hand, picking out one and holding it towards him.

"These aren't merchandise from the old days, Cody. These are _new_ invitations from a _new_ tournament. Thanks to his impressive performance in the last, my man got one. I managed to snatch a couple others too, just by asking nice. So I'm entering... and... maybe you, too?"

"You're offering me a place in the tournament?" Cody slowly accepted the envelope handed out to him. "Wait... your man?"

At the sight of a giant hand appearing on the alley corner, Cody jumped back slightly, dukes up and ready.

"Geez! You surprised me, man!" He exhaled in relief, dropping them again.

"Hello, Cody." Hugo greeted him. Infront of the sun, he looked like a giant shadow, one that covered both Poison and Cody.

"Really, you don't remember? I manage Hugo," Poison smirked, putting the remaining two invitations back under her shirt. "Whaddya say, Mr. Andore? Want Mr. Travers to compete?"

"Mm-hm," the colossal man nodded, crossing his huge arms. "Cody, you fought a lot of my brothers and uncles. To a man in a family of warriors, that means a lot. But I don't wish to fight you with any ill will, you understand."

"Yeah, I get it, alright," Cody couldn't help but laugh at the giant's manners. "But how exactly am I supposed to compete? I'm a fugitive."

Cody raised and pulled his chains taught, emphasizing his point with the clink of metal.

"You're not the only wanted man competing, Cody," Poison examined her nails as Hugo stood silently behind her. "The organizers don't care much for laws. They'll run the fight wherever they can, as long as they can film it with one of their little cameras. You should see them, actually. Size of a ladybug."

"Shadaloo, huh," He examined the symbol once more. "Guy definitely won't let this one pass. What do you want outta this, anyway, Poison?"

"A tag team partner for the big guy," She reached back, patting Hugo's forearm, nearly twice as thick as her whole hand. "If we win, I'll take the runner up. I'll even do it myself if I prove that good. But you were always on my mind, Cody."

"Poison thinks you're strong," Hugo's voice rumbled through the alley once more, booming, as soft as it was. "I have yet to make a judgement. There was not one amongst the Mad Gear Gang that I could not crush, myself. I am hoping we will face eachother in the tournament."

"We got a deal, handsome?" Poison extended her smooth, feminine hand towards him. Cody gripped it lightly in his own rough grasp.

"Let's see if we can't do something about my boredom."


	3. Prologue 3: The Return of Shadaloo

(Hey folks, sorry about the wait on this one. What with holidays, returning home from Uni to see friends, my birthday and a lot of schoolwork, most of April was pretty busy. But here it is, and I'm still working on it with great pleasure. Hope you enjoy.)

Prologue 3: The Return of Shadaloo

In a forest seventy miles in the mainland off Metro City, a sound not unlike the crack of thunder resonated through the trees. In the halls of the Bushinryu temple, agile footsteps, as light as leaves falling, padded near soundlessly through the wooden hallways and secret paths. A five man cell of the top Bushinryu ninjas rushed towards the sound. The 39th Master of Bushinryu, in a red gi-like top, sweatpants and tennis sneakers, led the way.

"The sound came from the Ceremonial Chamber!" The young blonde shouted from behind, her tonfa ready.

Turning the tight corners with ease, the Master gestured his hand forth, one of the other ninjas leaping forward with a flying kick through the door of the chamber. The cold night air swept though the great hall, Guy could see that a great portion the the wall at the far end had collapsed. Or rather, it had been blasted in, the rubble lying across the floor of the chamber. Standing along the broken wall, four figures stood, their figures cast in shadow against the bright full moon, the only noticeable trait being their identical black and white suits. Missing from the altar at the front and, in the hand of one of the trespassers, was the scroll he was charged to protect, the Tenets of Bushinryu. Guy froze. Losing that would be a sin tantamount to betraying the entire clan.

"Retrieve the Tenets!" He ordered, but as soon as he did, one of the figures, a female, dropped a small metal sphere onto the ground before them. Guy shielded his eyes, but the groans of the ninjas behind him were a clear signal most of them did not. Uncovering his gaze in time to see the intruders aiming pistols at them, Guy quickly jumped back to hear a shatter off the ground behind him. Three of the group had dropped to the ground, paralyzed by the needles sticking in their bodies, whereas Maki had stopped the one aimed at her with an expert guard with her tonfa.

"I'll get them, Master Guy!" Maki leapt into the air, straight at the one holding the scroll, however, in a flash, one of the others, a female figure with a flourish of long, black hair, collided with the girl in mid-air, launching her stomach into the ninja's gut. The sound of Maki's exhale echoed throughout the room as Guy ran and slid across the ground to catch her in time.

"He won't be able to chase us alone," spoke the voice of the one who held the Tenets. It was a somewhat older, experienced voice. Perhaps their leader, Guy thought. "Let's move out."

Guy shifted, ready, eager, even, to give chase. However, the unconscious body of Maki in his arms stirred as he did, and he turned to see the others, needles sticking from them, leg, chest and arm shots. What if they had a poison in them as well as tranquilizers? He couldn't leave them. Already the suit-clad figures were darting away from the collapsed walls, disappearing into the forest beyond.

Slowly letting the body of his comrade down, Guy shut his eyes as he stood up. He urged the breath in his lungs to calm and focused his mind. Allowing his temper to dissolve, Guy resolved himself to retrieving the Tenets. They were the instructions to some of Bushinryu's most powerful techniques, including the Bushin Mugo Renge, a technique that would prove devastating in the wrong hands. He couldn't help but feel responsible. Not only were they under his protection, but he was the one to recommend the scroll's transferal to the States so he could be closer to them and protect them easier. At least he would have some time before the secrets of Bushinryu would become clear to the thieves, however. The Tenets were written entirely in a code that took months for even the greatest of cryptographers to decipher, a language took Guy, and the other members of the higher circle of Bushinryu, months to learn.

But he couldn't be complacent. He needed to find the thieves, he needed some sort of connection, at least one lead. It was then that he saw it. On the alter, instead of the rolled up Tenets of Bushinryu, Guy saw an envelope. He instantly recognized the emblem of Shadaloo on the front. The implications behind this theft suddenly taking a far darker turn, Guy opened the envelope.

---

As calm and cool-headed she was, there were few things that got Cammy genuinely excited, or even happy. Putting her in a strop was much more likely. A reunion, however, with one that she felt somehow 'linked' to, even if it was in another life, that had put butterflies in her stomach for the past two weeks. Dressed in her combat gear, a form fitting leotard with arm and shin guards, and, of course, her red beret, she had no expectations of the visit being a peaceful one. The Delta Red helicopter neared the helipad, after a descent through the snowstorm that rushed the German base. Two U.N. soldiers made their way out from the bunker. Their guns aimed steadily at the chopper.

"Pretty ballsy given their weaponry. You sure they're playing U.N. rules, Wolfman?" She asked her superior, crossing her arms as they closed in on the pad.

"Blue Beret peacekeepers, Cammy. No firearms. They're tranquilizers." The man replied.

"What are they doing all the way in Germany, then? I thought they got deployed to war-zones."

"Usually, yes, but they picked up the trail in a small South American country that's just got over a civil war and followed it to Germany. They've not been sanctioned to operate here."

"Whereas we have, thanks to our experience with Shadaloo." She sighed.

"Yes, political ramifications of British operatives in Germany aside, no-one wants Shadaloo in their country for long. But no-one can know Delta Red are here. The Blue Berets will be much easier to understand, so you might have to don a uniform."

"Well, I do like playing dress-up." Cammy smirked as, finally, the helicopter touched down. The solders approached, another figure coming from inside the bunker.

Wearing a leotard similar to Cammy's, but with a blue, form-fitting winter coat over it, Agent Juni raised her hand in salute to the Delta Red chopper. Hopping down, with Wolfman stepping out behind her, Cammy returned it. There was a moment's silence between the two, something between anxiousness and relief. They had both been through similar ordeals. Of course, Juni had been released much later, being kept in stasis with the other 'Dolls' during the battle against S.I.N.. But still, there was a sense of shared experience between the two. Cammy had spent the first sixteen years of her life known only as 'Killer Bee', direct agent of Bison, assassin and leader of the Dolls. Whereas Juni had been one of her subordinates, brainwashed and ordered to murder her entire family, a task she completed and now had no recollection of. All Dolls, apart from Cammy, had been kept in one of the Shadaloo research centers before being stolen by S.I.N., a rogue Shadaloo department. There, they were to be subjected to all kinds of experiments, designed to improve their combat abilities. However, they had been rescued. Nowadays, Cammy had no idea how many were still accounted for, but here, before her, stood the proof that they had the opportunity to survive and still do something with their life.

"Cammy White, Delta Red."

"Colonel Keith Wolfman, how do you do."

"Agent Juni," the young copper haired woman replied in her native German accent. "United Nations Blue Berets."

"Those are tranq. guns, right?" Cammy nodded towards the other U.N. agents.

"Of course. We're only permitted to use non-lethal force."

"No need for any weapons in your case, then, right?" Wolfman laughed nervously. The ex-Doll had yet to crack a smile.

"Cammy, we decided to contact you for more than one reason after we followed the Shadaloo operative into Europe. One was because of Delta Red's past experience in fighting the syndicate... but... the second... this is who we tracked down." Juni's brow furrowed as she looked away, visibly discomforted by the file she held towards Cammy. The English girl looked to her superior, unsure if she should see it before him. However, curious as he was to know how this was linked to her, he nodded, giving his approval. She flicked the file open, her blue irises widening in shock.

"My God...." Her heart pumped hard against her ribs. This mission had suddenly gotten a lot more serious, even for a Shadaloo case.

---

"HIYAAAAAAH!"

The flash of of fire declared Fei Long's victory against Kong 'The Tiger', his opponent. From the unconscious body of the defeated, he snatched a blue envelope and held it to the camera, clenching his fist just right so the muscles in his arms tensed to their most impressive state.

"I'm finally ready to show the world that Hitenryu cannot be defeated! No matter how powerful the style, no matter how large the opponent, no matter how slim the odds, I, Fei Long, will remain tri-!"

A beer bottle smashed against the screen, sparks flying from it as the few regulars of the small, dark bar groaned collectively. A particularly hot headed youth, his neck covered in black tribal tattoos, stood up, flexing though his skin tight black shirt in anger.

"What the hell, man! I was watching that, that's Fei damn Long!" He pointed towards the bottle thrower. The Vandal, however, was undisturbed by the nervous looking barman, instead asking for another beer to 'wash away the bad taste'. The youth only got more irate. "Damn, barman! You're gonna let him get away with that!"

"I'll pay for it. Damn choreographed bull crap..." The man slurred, turning his head, his face still obscured behind a shaggy head of untamed black hair.

"Pay for it? What do I care! I was watching that," he flicked out a small knife from his pants pocket, waving it in zig-zags through the air. "I'm gonna gut you, you drunken idiot!"

He lunged at the man, knife jabbing straight through the air. Only to find, however, that the back he had aimed for was no longer there. Almost unnaturally shifted to the side, leaning over thin air, the man swung his entire body atop the chair in a sluggish, but incredibly fast movement, the swipe of his arm catching the assailant and lifting him straight off his feet. The young thug flew through the air, smacking against the wall with a dull thud. His friends, a bald, goggle and sweater wearing punk and a larger, silent dread-bearing man, stood from their seats.

"Hey, man, that's too far!" The bald one shouted, pointing a finger at the man at the bar. The other simply picked up his own chair, breaking a leg from it with ease.

"... Fei Long, Fei Long...," the drunkard muttered, reaching up to scratch at his scruffy dark hair. Swiveling in his chair, the middle aged Chinese man ran his hand across his unshaven chin. He wore a black, torn suit jacket and suit pants in the same condition. The black shirt had been missing a few buttons and the tie hung open around his neck. "Is that who you kids look up to nowadays? That phony, 'wa-taa'-ing wannabe...."

"Dude... that's...Chen You!" The bald one suddenly smirked, beating at his friend's chest in disbelief. The other showed no change in expression at all. Chen simply stood, rolling his neck, cracking it loudly.

"Alright, do your worst, punk. But be prepared to pay for it."

"What the hell is a washed up actor like you doin' here? Can't you be a talentless old bum someplace else?" The thug cackled.

"That's your worst, huh...," Chen sighed. Before another word was spoken, he had already crossed the nine foot distance, his foot firmly lodged between Baldie's legs. "You get no points for originality."

The growl of the large, previously silent one alerted Chen before he'd even seen his strike. The chair leg, aimed at his head, looked as if it were in slow motion. Chen moved like the flow of a brook, almost defying gravity and almost toppling right over as his shoulders and head swung back, cleanly avoiding the wooden shaft. Twisting his leg upwards, he twirled his body right round as he leaned, his closed fists swinging up like a hammer in a windmill motion, smashing against the large one's head, once, and twice for good measure. The thug fell straight off his feet, collapsing to the ground at the same time as his partner. Two gasping for air, one unconscious. Chen could declare that victory.

"I'll pay for that, too..." He sighed and burped mid-sentence, pointing to the broken chair. His stumble back to his stool was interrupted by a slow clap from the corner of the bar.

"Excellent. Just superb," The young man smirked. Chen didn't recognize him, but he looked familiar, a young silver haired martial artist with a claw scar over one eye. "You, at least, were doing more than simple acting in your day, Chen You."

"Heh... back then we actually had to fight." The drunkard laughed, turning away once more. The flash of silver froze him in motion, however. A tiny dagger stuck into the wooden wall behind the bar.

"One should never turn their back on an opponent, Chen You." The young man, dressed in a white Shen Yi robe, now stood next to his table, his hand outstretched, more tiny daggers lodged between his fingers.

"I got a quarrel with you or somethin'?"

"Forgive me, my name is Lotus," the male smirked, not looking particularly apologetic. "And I can't stand aside after seeing a skilled martial artist like yourself in action. I thought I could hold off till the tournament but... apparently not!"

At that moment, the young man swiped his hand in Chen's direction, the small blade flying straight from his fingers. However, Chen had already propelled himself across the ground, scuffing the knees of his pants on the floor as he slid a leg out to the side, catching a stool and kicking it at Lotus as the daggers flew into the wall harmlessly. In-taking a sharp breath, Lotus launched a palm strike at the wooden stool that flew at him, thrusting his hand right through the seat. Noticing that the assassin's hand was lodged inside, Chen jumped onto his feet and, grabbing the legs of the stool, took a running step before leaping into the air. Launching into a corkscrew twirl, he took the stool, and Lotus's arm, with him. However, the white haired fighter had leapt with the stool, cartwheeling, his robe fanning through the air.

"Cheap tricks won't do it!" Lotus shouted, pulling his fist from the stool with a loud crunch as the furniture finally cracked in half.

"Apparently not...," Chen replied, discarding the two broken pieces. Only a couple feet lay between him and this mysterious young fighter. This was a man who had doubtlessly killed before. Yet Chen couldn't help but smile a little. "Y'know, it's been a while since I've fought seriously. You might even sober me up."

"Is your Drunken Fist as good without the 'Drunken'?" Lotus chuckled, before crossing his arms and swiping them forth in a cross motion. Chen had been late in noticing, but he had already prepared more of those tiny daggers. As they flew through the air, Chen dashed forth, as if to meet them. For him, everything moved in slow motion. The daggers, Lotus, even his own body. As long as he always breathed at his own pace, he had all the time in the world to react. The ki waving over and under his arms, the ever-present life-force of the world, even running through a place like this dingy old pub. That was his true weapon. Crouching low, the daggers flying over him with a zip, Chen's arms outstretched, his palms open. Twirling along the ground, his hands would guide the flow of that ki, like a whirlpool, streams of the now visible blue energy running over and under his arms like powerful streams. Catching Lotus's legs with a backhand, Chen swept him cleanly off his feet. As Chen slowed to a stop, his hands held out on either side of him as he teetered dangerously, Lotus hit the ground hard, his head making a dull snapping sound of the floor, signaling his loss of consciousness.

"... still been a while since I fought seriously...," Chen sighed, before his eye caught the gleam of something amongst Lotus's robes. "What's this?"

Reaching in, he quickly retrieved it. The exact same of envelope in all the advertisements and the same kind as the one being offered as a prize in the local tournament. It was World Warriors invitation. Curious, yet silent, Chen rotated it in his hand before making his way back to the bar.

"Look, I got it just like Fei Long," he placed the envelope on the bar as the barman chuckled and filled another glass. "Sorry about the damage, partner."

"No worries, Chen... so, you gonna go?" He nodded to the envelope. For a long while, the old ex-star simply remained silent, draining the glass. When he finished, he set the empty on top of the invite.

"Nah... gimme another."

---

Her leotard and body paint changed for a pitch black, Cammy leaned around the corner of the old truck. Apparently desperate for a location in this particular region of Germany, the Shadaloo unit had no alternative but a scrapyard. It felt more like a graveyard for vehicles, the cold and ice freezing the giant, metal skeletons. But Cammy didn't care for the cold. Even though Wolfman told her she always risked hypothermia for it. Over the comm. unit placed carefully against her temple, she could hear her ally's voice.

"I see them, White. Four armed guards and the squad leader. They're waiting for transport, obviously. I'd say the only thing that could get in and out easily is a helicopter." Juni said over the radio, watching through the windows of the garage with her binoculars. She was stationed beside a old, rusty convertible on the opposite side of the garage from Cammy.

"Alright. Since they're on your side, that gives me more points of entry. Hold position, Agent Juni. You'll have to keep an eye out for any cavalry they have coming "

"Roger." She replied. However, Juni could feel, for the first time, unease at the orders of a superior. She needed to be inside that building. Yet already, she knew Cammy was on the move.

Placing her gloved hand on the backdoor of the garage, Cammy felt along the metal handle, gripping lightly as if to open. Old and rusty. If she even tried to budge it, it'd made enough racket to make sure every soldier inside emptied their clip at it. According to Juni, so far this particular squad had been the kind to shoot first and forget about any questions. They were no amateurs, so whatever they had must've been important. Reaching up to the low slope of the corrugated iron entrance roof, Cammy, slowly and quietly, eased herself upwards, aware of the very light creak of the metal, and how to distribute her weight. Luckily, the cold wind made this scrapyard a particularly creaky one and, soon, Cammy was safe and sound, sprawled on all fours over the small roof, looking up at the main garage roof, also corrugated iron.

"White, are you hearing that?" Juni's voice came in over the radio, alerting her to more than just the sound of her proximity. The sound of chopping wind from afar. Heavy metal blades cutting through the air with enough pressure to slice bone.

"The choppers here...," she muttered. "Alright, Juni... moving in on my three."

Cammy gently pulled one of her heavy arm guards from her right hand.

"One...," She kept one hand on the higher roof before her, the other dangling the arm guard over the edge of the one she was one. "Two."

She peered carefully over the edge before dropping the glove.

"Three!"

The arm guard hit the door handle, jostling it loudly. As the expected hail of bullets sprayed through the door and the surrounding sheet metal wall, Cammy had already propelled herself onto the main roof. Juni had begun her sprint from the opposite side, striding towards the garage. As Cammy made a run up for her jump, the leader inside looked up at the roof at the sudden pounding outside. They were too late, however, to stop the spiraling figure from bursting in, landing straight on one of the subordinates, and sweeping the other three right around her.

However, the brown haired female had been able to react to the sound of smashing glass behind her, as another agent, an auburn haired soldier, spiral kicked right through the window. Turning to grab the soldier's legs, the Shadaloo general swung her harshly, tossing her against the wall and winding the young woman. By the time her blonde comrade had straightened up, it was a 1-on-1 situation, the night air, after all the shattering glass, tearing metal and blasting machine guns, silent, apart from the gasps for air from the blue beret.

"It is you..." Cammy stared, her blue eyes wide, at her opponent. Her hand on her chest as she spluttered for breath, Juni also looked at the enemy with surprise.

A woman in her early twenties, with long brown hair tied into a bun with sickle-like bangs, Juli wore a green tank-top with leather shoulder pads sewn on and military cargo pants. Her heavy boots shifted, crunching against the glass, as she held her bandaged hands before her, readying her stance. From the side, Juni could only stare, dumbfounded, at the Shadaloo tattoo on Juli's bicep.

"Why are you working with Shadaloo!" Cammy launched her left fist straight at the girl, the brunette catching her arm guard between two forearms. Trying to twist Cammy's arm, Juli only pulled the Brit closer, soon feeling a hard right hook from the blonde's bare hand. Juli stumbled backwards, her hand reaching behind her to steady herself, but managing to cut her hand on a outward shard of glass.

The helicopter was deafening now. Closing her injured fist, Juli's eyes quickly scanned the surroundings.

"Don't you dare!" Cammy dashed forth. But Juli had already grabbed the metal suitcase by her feet and outmaneuvered her, zipping to the side and running for the middle of the room. Cammy turned and launched herself in a Spiral Arrow at Juli's legs. However, the young Mexican ex-Doll simply turned to glance at Cammy, studying her features briefly, before her hand, now holding some sort of device, shot upwards. A loud snap signaled the firing of the hook from the device, a far-off metallic snap following. With the zip of a metallic cord, Juli's body was pulled up with excellent accuracy through the very hole Cammy had made in the roof. By the time Cammy stood upright from her missed attack and looked up through the hole, the helicopter had been heading far off.

"Dammit. Wolfman, this is White!" She shouted through her comm. unit. "They're retreating via helicopter, see what you can do about it!"

However, both she and Juni had known they had gotten away. The young German was finally regaining her breath, her eyes on the glass jutting out from the window. Red slid slowly down the clear shard, the tip dyed in blood.

"Juli...." She mumbled to herself, before she slipped into darkness.

(Hope you enjoyed! I'd say we have roughly four prologue chapters to go before starting the tournament. A lot of important characters to introduce, after all!)


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